


Comfort

by plain_jane08 (awolfling)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awolfling/pseuds/plain_jane08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt at sherlockbbc_fic  : I want John either having a nightmare/panic attack, etc. and Sherlock being really gentle and comforting and doing all of those cliche things like cradling John close and whispering "shh" and things like that. Make me melt, plz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

The television had been left on but Sherlock was far too distracted to notice, engrossed in the latest pharmaceutical journal in which an article detailed a newly discovered interaction between two drugs which, when combined in the right ratio could produce an unexpected paralysis that mimicked a coma but kept the person conscious. Sherlock paid no attention to the cycle of programs on the television as he pondered the usefulness of this new information, wondering whether a chemist serial killer would utilise it.  
  
Sherlock did, however, notice when John came home. First in a purely environmental way; Sherlock had been alone, now he was not. Sherlock would have barely acknowledged John’s routine greeting, had it happened, too engrossed in the chemical reactions he was reading about to greet him in return. It was the lack of greeting that caught Sherlock’s attention, or rather, the abrupt cutting off of the greeting, John only getting out the first syllable of ‘hello’ out.  
  
Sherlock looked up to see John pale, staring at the television with wide, haunted eyes. Sherlock turned his gaze to the television. The news was on, a newly breaking report of a bomb blast in Afghanistan, visuals of a wrecked army vehicle, dead bodies on the road flashed across the screen.   
  
Sherlock looked back at John who was breathing quickly now, breath coming in sharp bursts that he was clearly trying to control, his eyes not leaving the screen. Sherlock got up and stood next to John, placing a hand tentatively on John’s shoulder. John started, whole body jerking as his gaze flew from the television to Sherlock. John’s face suddenly crumpled with pain and he grasped at his leg. His knees buckled but Sherlock caught him before he could fall and guided him to the floor. John was close to hyperventilating.  
  
“John,” Sherlock said calmly, hands cupping John’s face in an attempt to centre him, “John, look at me.”  
  
Slowly John seemed to focus on Sherlock, eyes panicked as he gasped for breath.  
  
“Good, now I want you to breathe with me. Come on, deep breath in,” Sherlock encouraged, drawing an audible breath.  
  
John’s breath hitched as he tried to follow and his eyes darted away as he took another panicked wheeze.   
  
“No, no,” Sherlock said, grabbing one of John’s hands and placing it on Sherlock’s chest. “Focus on me. Slow deep breaths now.”  
  
Sherlock inhaled again, letting his chest fill out so that John could feel the movement.  
  
“And out,” Sherlock said, chest deflating. “Again.”  
  
Sherlock breathed in deeply and let it out slowly.  
  
“Good,” Sherlock said as John attempted to follow his breaths, “Keep going.”  
  
They breathed together, their breath eventually matching. Sherlock knew exactly when reality asserted itself on John again; John’s hand that Sherlock held to his chest began to shake and his breath hitched with emotion rather than a lack of air. John wrenched his hand away from Sherlock.  
  
“Fuck!” John shouted, slamming a fist down onto the floor.  
  
A sob welled up in John’s chest and he turned away from Sherlock as it escaped.  
  
“Oh John,” Sherlock said softly, reaching for John and pulling him into a hug.  
  
John was stiff at first, holding his breath against making further sounds. Sherlock just held John tighter.  
  
“It’s alright,” Sherlock whispered, “I’ve got you.”  
  
That seemed to ease something in John and he began to cry in earnest, his whole body shaking as he sobbed. John fisted his hands in Sherlock’s shirt, holding onto him as John buried his face in his shoulder, tears soaking the fabric.  
  
“Shhh,” Sherlock said, running his hands over John’s back, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. That’s it.”  
  
Sherlock repeated the words of comfort, hushing John as he cradled him. The helpless sounds that escaped John made Sherlock’s own eyes burn with unshed tears as Sherlock desperately wished he could take all of John’s pain away. Sherlock just kept stroking John’s back.  
  
John eventually calmed, tears still leaking from his eyes but no longer wracked with sobs. He drew away from Sherlock with a wet sniff.  
  
“I have to get up,” John said hoarsely, “My leg is aching.”  
  
Sherlock could see that it cost John to admit that. Sherlock nodded and got to his feet, helping John up once he was standing.  
  
“Come on,” Sherlock said, leading John to the couch. John was uncharacteristically pliant, too overwrought to imagine doing anything but following Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock lay down on the couch, pulling John with him so that John ended up lying half on top of Sherlock, one leg between Sherlock’s and his head on Sherlock 's chest.  
  
“Sherlock?” John said hesitantly.  
  
“Shhh, relax,” Sherlock said before pressing a kiss to John’s forehead.  
  
John did as instructed, body melting into Sherlock’s as he sniffled a bit. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and within a few minutes John was asleep, exhausted by emotion.  
  
Sherlock wondered if he could reach his pharmaceutical journal and continue reading but decided against it in case he woke John. Sherlock settled on following John’s example and getting some sleep too, he was very warm and comfortable after all.


End file.
